Interval
by Poli Almasy
Summary: Six regains her memory at an awkward time. Written for the Falloutkinkmeme ages ago.


I realize there is no silencer for the 9mm, and it BREAKS MY HEART.

Written for the falloutkinkmeme

Veronica had 'gotten her craft on' last night to make sure the dress fit properly. Which, in V's mind meant 'don't bend over in public.' Six had rolled her eyes and pulled it on over her head in any case.

Looking at herself in the mirror of the presidential suite, she had to admit she made a pretty picture. The luxuries of the Strip had no doubt helped her look a little less like herself and a little more like a seductress. Her normal, practical ponytail had been let down and her hair brushed out. Clearly, Veronica was getting a kick out of using her as her own personal dress-up doll. She had styled herself as well, albeit a bit more conservatively. It was a sight to see the scribe without her hood.

"I may hate my hair, but I like you, and I don't think Victor will take a picture, so we're good."

The securitron-robot-cowboy-stalker-thing had just come off the elevator. It was five minutes to seven. Leave it to a robot to be precise.

Six gave herself a final look over.

"This will work," she told herself.

Veronica nodded slowly in agreement. "You've been practicing on just about every person between the 188 and here. And I'd say your success rate has been pretty darn good. If you weren't a black widow before, you've got me pretty fooled."

Six smiled and tucked her loose hair behind her ears. Some things took more getting used to than thirty minutes of prep time would allow.

"If I did know who I was before...maybe I was downright evil." Six twisted her hands into claws and growled at Veronica, who jumped back in mock fear.

Tilting her head, V made what was sure to be her final plea. "At least let me be in the Tops with you. I'll get a better sense of if you're in danger."

Six shook her head. "We can't take the risk of being found out. And while you may think you're subtle, there are some NCR troopers at Golf who would beg to differ..."

Veronica pouted, no doubt thinking back on a certain blonde squad leader who now knew a touch too much regarding V's 'hole in the ground.'

"Fine, ED-E and I will hang out here, clear out the mini-bar. Maybe home-cook you a meal afterwards."

Making sure the strap around her leg was securely holding her silenced 9mm in place, Six barely registered V's comments. The skirt of the dress had been left soft and loose, easily concealing the weapon. Breathing in, she closed her eyes and tried to visualize the man she was about to encounter. Between Goodsprings and the Strip she had learned to be on the lookout for a checkered coat and dark hair. Undoubtably he would be surrounded by his own security detail, hence the plan to get him unaccompanied and unarmed. There was still a knot in her stomach. For as much has she had been practicing, on that poor scientist who thought himself a ghoul, those King's members who were barely even her own age, she had yet to actually be alone with someone she had 'seduced.' Even with her memories muddled, she was fairly certain that she wasn't quite this sort of charmer before getting that insignificant corner of her brain blown out. She did, however have confidence in her shooting ability. If things got rough, one on one with 'Benny' she wouldn't bet against herself on coming out ahead. After all, he had already gotten a clear shot at her and failed.

Six squeezed Veronica's shoulder and headed for the elevator, asking Victor to escort her down to the casino floor.

Between her unconcealed, decoy 9mm being confiscated at the front door and the click of the lock of Benny's suite was a bit of a blur. He wanted her to keep quiet, which had worked to her advantage, no time to signal for the reinforcements she also lacked. He kept his arm around her waist as they made their way to the 13th floor. Through the fabric of her dress his hand felt cold at her hip. She could have sworn that his palms were sweating. Maybe she could have worn her leather armor to the same ends. No place to hide the pistol though.

She wanted answers and he wanted sex. They met somewhere in the middle. There was no chance of further concession on his part, he simply didn't have his deck ready yet. She kept quiet, nodded and sipped her wine. He drank straight from a bottle of whiskey and ran his fingers through his hair. The way they both figured it, she had the upper hand here, unrestricted access to the Lucky 38, to House himself. It became obvious that he didn't want her dead anymore. She was far too valuable for that. On the other had, she required nothing of him. Unarmed, unclothed, dead. Dead and then she would walk away from this place, back out into the wastes and piece herself back together bit by bit. Maybe she would just build herself anew with little care to who she once was. Good as anything. But this was step one. Revenge was instinctual, she didn't need a self to feel that urge.

In a sign of good faith, he unholstered his pistol and dropped the clip, letting it thud against the carpet. The gun itself, shiny and clean, just like him, just like she was pretending to be, was placed next to her on the bar. She made herself comply and pulled up her skirt, seeing Benny's eyebrow arch as she removed her own weapon, dropped the clip, and placed it besides it's unlikely mate. Her pistol was weathered and dark, like she imagined she might have been. No matter now.

He was eager to undress her, sliding the zipper down the back of her dress and letting it fall from her shoulders, catching around her wider hips. His jacket had been discarded when they first entered the suite.

What trepidation she had before was gone. She knew what to do. Instinct took over, sex and revenge. Moving without thought she made her way through the buttons of his pressed shirt. Such luxuries while children chased rats alongside human corpses just yards away. Down to his white undershirt his physique became apparent. Six had learned that Benny was first a tribal, second...this thing he presented himself to be. Tattoos from a former life became visible as that layer was discarded.

Benny removed his own pants but left her dress bunched up around her hips.

This she wanted. Not him. He was the least desirable part of this whole situation. But hands on her breasts, a mouth on her neck and a body below her, these were things Six indisputably wanted.

Benny leaned against the headboard with Six straddling his lap. The folds of pink fabric that made up her skirt concealing them both from the harsh light of the suite. She placed one hand against his chest while using the other to guide his cock into her. Tucking her feet beneath herself, she began to ride him with slow, steady movements. She could feel him speaking against her skin as he moved from one nipple to the other. She had to bend herself over to reach his mouth, affection was perhaps instinctual as well. How was she to know in any case?

While her body moved without intervention her mind raced to how to reassemble her gun first, or if she should risk letting him fall to sleep first. There were details to be accounted for.

He had previously been participating in her slow rhythm. Now she felt herself falling.

Back against the bed, she came face to face with the brown eyes that had looked down at her, helpless, and shot her in the head.

Then, for a moment, she saw nothing. Maybe it was the same nothing she had seen from the inside of her own grave.

Back against the bed, this was the same place, but a different time.

She was drunk and giddy. Her blue merc skirt riding up but otherwise fully clothed. Benny was pushing his body against hers, his erection hot against her leg. She had come to the Tops with 2,000 caps in her bag and all were still intact. He wouldn't let her spend a single one, picking her out from the crowd just as she walked in the door. Gambling had been far from her mind as long as she had a drink in her hand and he had a story on his lips. But their mouths had other plans. Places to be.

They stripped each other, a bit clumsy on her account. "Buttons are hard!"

Only a smirk in reply.

Another name, then. Something other than Six. Nash had told her it as well, but that wasn't her.

But that name rolled out of Benny over and over while she knelt between his legs sucking the head of his cock. Her hand kept pace and he pushed her away before it became too much. Main course, pussycat.

Her head faced the foot of the bed as he climbed over her. "You're the tops, -"

Six was back in the present moment, cum running down her upper thigh. She couldn't bring herself to move. Benny still hovered above her, seeking out her mouth, finding his target, and receiving nothing in return.

"What's wrong, pussycat."

"You know my name."

Everything she could have said in that interval, those four words seemed more appropriate.

There had been more memories than that. Days that had been stolen from her along with the years prior. But only those days came back. Wandering the Strip alone after dark and spending the slow afternoons in a haze of sex. Whispers in her ear about how she would be the queen of it all, if only she stuck around. She'd play cards by herself in his suite when she didn't feel up to explore, preferring the solitude to...something. There wasn't enough there.

And then one night she returned to the Tops, falling asleep in an empty bed, waking up in an empty bed.

Bits and pieces of information swirled around the Tops, about Benny and a Followers doctor. That he must have tired of that sweet broad from the Wasteland who didn't know how to hold her liquor. Back out into the Wasteland. Bullet to the head, and he had known her all along.

"You know my name."

There had been no response from Benny.

This time, he nodded in assent.

How long was it? Between when he last fucked her and when he first shot her? Fourteen weeks? It was all intact now. Fourteen weeks. Out of the Strip and back into the only world her parent's could have ever imagined for her. Job as a courier, better than a scavenger and 2,000 caps wouldn't get her by forever. Visit to a tribal woman who knew how to remedy her problem, if not her heart. The next day the child expelled itself from her body. She spent three days in bed.

She stood now, pulling her dress back up, mildly aware of the state she was in. He stood as well, helping her zip the back of her dress. Standing there, exposed himself. He offered no explanation for himself. There was a tenseness to his form she had not seen before, even as he pulled the trigger.

Slow in her movements, she pulled her unloaded pistol from the counter top and aimed it at him. She imagined the rounds go off in her head hitting his hands, his chest, his head, his cock. Six pulled the trigger a dozen times as he stood before her, frozen.

"18 karat bad luck..."

Leaving the rounds behind, she walked out of the Tops, her weapon in plain sight


End file.
